


double-header

by nezstorm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Football, Alternate Universe - Sports, Established Relationship, Football | Soccer, M/M, Peter is a Diva, Soccer Player Peter, Young Peter Hale, injured peter, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 07:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: When Stiles got back home to find Peter on the treadmill, breath already labored and shirt wet with sweat, he couldn’t say he was surprised. He’d been expecting it for a week already, to be honest, Peter never did well being told to take it easy. Or being told to not do things in general.--Or a verse where Peter plays football.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OccasionallyUndulyFormal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionallyUndulyFormal/gifts).



> bringing my part of this series back because of the World Cup 2018. for those who missed this, these ficclets are from 2014 and inspired by WC 2014.  
> also  
> it's football, not soccer for me. deal with it.

When Stiles got back home to find Peter on the treadmill, breath already labored and shirt wet with sweat, he couldn’t say he was surprised. He’d been expecting it for a week already, to be honest, Peter never did well being told to take it easy. Or being told to not do things in general.

 

Still, there was a pretty good reason why had been banned from practice and from any sort of activities that would put too much strain on his leg.

 

“Peter, what do you think you're doing?”

 

“Preparing for our next game.” Peter didn’t even falter in his steps, he just continued on without even glancing at Stiles.

 

Stiles stared at him, incredulous. God, Peter was so smart, yet still so stupidly stubborn sometimes.

 

“You mean the game you won't get to play in if you fuck up your knee again?” He stepped directly in front of the machine, into Peter’s line of sight. Gave him his best stern parent look, mastered by years of catching his father on sneaking around with junk food. “You were supposed to be taking it easy. I even remember you promising.”

 

"I have to be ready." Peter looked sullen, but he didn’t stop Stiles from turning the treadmill off.

 

He just slowed down his run together with it and climbed down once it finally stopped. He still refused to look at Stiles though, turning away from him to get a towel from the rack nearby and wipe himself down.

 

His shoulders were tense, Stiles noted, stressed and worried. Though Peter would never really admit it, Stiles knew he was nervous about the upcoming match. Three weeks away from the field would do that to a player even as good as Peter.

 

Stiles smiled softly at Peter’s back and broached the distance Peter set between them.

 

"You are. You won't be any more ready if you overexert yourself. You know this." He told him, skimmed his hands down Peter’s shoulders. He leaned in closer when Peter didn’t flinch away from the touch.

 

"C'mon. You'll do yourself more of a favor by relaxing." He wrapped his arms around Peter, pressed against him unmindful of Peter's shirt being soaked through with sweat. "Let's take a long bath and then I'll give you a massage. How does that sound?"

 

Peter snorted, but played along. "No bubbles though."

 

Stiles bit back a grin.

 

"Heathen! A proper bath requires bubbles. Lots of them." Stiles snaked his arms under the front of Peter's shirt, scratched his nails over his abs the way he knew Peter loved best. "So, what do you say? Would you rather get even more sweaty?" He murmured as he nibbled at the side of Peter's neck, giving special attention to the patch of skin that never failed to affect Peter in the best ways.

 

He was using every trick he knew on him. "Or spend some time letting loose with me? Hm?"

 

Peter chuckled and leaned back into him. "I know what you're doing."

 

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't. What matters though is that we both know it's working."

 

Peter laughed at that and twisted in Stiles' hold to bite at Stiles' mouth. "It really is." Peter leaned in closer and dragged his nose along the line of Stiles' jaw; Stiles felt a long gush of air breeze over his skin as Peter exhaled, winding down before he spoke up again. "Lead the way."

 

It was Stiles' turn to laugh.

 

He took one of Peter's hands in his and walked backwards towards the bathroom, knowing that Peter would make sure he didn't stumble into any furniture. He smirked at Peter. "If you'll be good, after the massage we can have some pretty good vanilla sex, as the good doctor advised."

 

"What Deaton actually said was that if we're to have sex we should refrain from being too eager about it. He wasn't actually telling us to do anything."

 

"Free interpretation. Are you actually saying no to fucking me?" Stiles mock gasped even as he was losing his clothes, moving in to help Peter with his.

 

He grinned when Peter rolled his eyes at him, grabbed his ass and pulled him in and growled playfully.

 

"I'm not an idiot."


	2. Chapter 2

He can see Scott on the other side of the field, seems to be the only one that noticed the blond sneaking past the defenses. The shot wouldn’t be easy, but he could do it. Peter could. But Peter can also make his way through the two players running towards him, he’s sure.

 

He twirls with the ball just as they reach him, kicks it between their legs and catches up in three steps leaving the defenders behind. It’s only him and the goalkeeper now and Peter doesn’t stop to think. He sends the ball flying with his left leg, a high kick from the side of his foot that should curve the ball just so.

 

By all means, the ball should fly right above the goalie and into the net.

 

Only Derek’s right there, jumping in and sending the ball away with his head, successfully saving his team and destroying Peter’s plans.

 

He shoots his nephew a glare and runs back and away from the goal, ready to snatch the ball and try again. But a whistle blows right then and the coach’s booming voice carries through the field.

 

“Hale!”

 

It’s topped off with a glare right in Peter’s direction so there’s no doubt which of them he means and Derek doesn’t fail to run right past Peter and grin at him triumphantly as he’s walking off the field.

 

“What the hell was that?” Finstock demands, arms akimbo and a frown set on his face.

 

“A near miss, coach. But I’ll fix it in a moment.” Peter jogs in place and glances between the field and Finstock, the training session so much more interesting than their coach’s stormy expression.

 

“Well it was pathetic. My grandmother would have done it better and she’s missing a leg! McCall was in the clear and I know you saw him, he had a much better chance. And it’s the fourth time you picked over going on your own over passing the ball and actually scoring.”

 

Peter shrugs. Even if what the man is saying is true all Peter’s shots were near misses. He is their team’s best player and he didn’t achieve the status by waiting on his team to get into position.

 

It seems to mean nothing to Finstock though because he points at him angrily before announcing:

 

“You’re on the bench for the next game.”

 

Peter splutters.

 

“What?! Coach!”

 

“Shut it, Hale. I had it with your showing off. This isn’t a one man party.”

 

“We’re going to lose without me!” Peter argues. “Our next game is with—“

 

“We’re going to lose because you’re a fucking diva, Hale. You’ll get to play when you learn to pass. Now sit your ass down.”

 

Peter stares daggers at the bastard, but Coach just pointed to the bench before turning back to oversee the game.

 

He’s tempted to storm off to the locker room to shower while his team finished without him. But a temper tantrum wouldn’t help his case at all so he flopped down between Boyd, sitting the training out due to a knee contusion, and the assistant coach. This is not the way he wanted to start this season.

 

\--

 

Stiles is already there, when he gets home, the dining room table overtaken by open books and sheets of paper. He’s hunched over his laptop, his fingers rapid-fire over the keys, but he still looks up when he hears Peter enter the room.

 

“Hey.”

 

His first reaction is to smile at Peter, but whatever expression Peter is wearing at the moment makes the warm grin pale.

 

He doesn’t ask though and Peter doesn’t offer. He does lean into the silent greeting Peter presses into his lips, though, before Peter leaves him to his studies and goes right into the gym.

 

There’s anger and frustration boiling under his skin and he might set them loose if he as much as opens his mouth. Burning it all on the treadmill and weights will be less destructive and a good use to the excess energy.

 

He’s at it for hours, a mindless focus to every motion, to every single move. He stretches, runs, lifts, stretches again; all until his whole body is aching and his gym clothes are soaked with sweat, his skin clammy. Until his thoughts are just a buzz, quiet settled over his anger. He’s calm, but not yet soothed, so he sets out to search for his favorite balm.

 

Stiles is still in the dining room, but he isn’t studying anymore. His study materials have been put in order and shoved to the floor, his laptop pushed away to make place for Stiles to rest: his arms folded on the tabletop and pillowing his head.

 

He’s not asleep though because the moment Peter steps next to his chair and plasters himself to Stiles’ back Stiles groans and tries to wriggle away.

 

“God, Peter, you stink!” He doesn’t sound that put out by it though, and his attempts at escape are half-hearted at best. His act dropped altogether when he arches his neck to give Peter place to nuzzle into.

 

They stay like that for a moment even though the position must be uncomfortable for Stiles. He doesn’t complain though: not about how his back and arms must be aching, how Peter is practically sticking to him in places, or about the fact that even Peter can smell himself right now.

 

He’s still giving Peter space, trusting Peter to tell him what’s wrong in his own time and Peter couldn’t be more grateful to have him in his life.


End file.
